


Heatwave

by Sarcasticmissy



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticmissy/pseuds/Sarcasticmissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reply to commentfic suggestion: Chandler/Kent | Any | heatwave; aka, the one where Chandler actually rolls his sleeves at work and Kent may actually die from that never mind the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

The heat is stifling, the station windows not designed to let air flow in but instead create this cauldron of sticky warmth that doesn’t dissipate, not even with every fan owned on.

You all make concessions, a tie removed here, a jacket removed there and you strip off your own jacket and tie and try not to be jealous of the women of the office, their ability to still look smart with the least amount of clothing they can put on, their concessions to the heat much easier to make. 

You glance up at the DI in his office, a small intake of breath as you see bare skin, buttons undone with a hint of collarbone, sleeves rolled up with glimpses of strong muscles flexing. You look away, all too aware of how your emotions show, not wanting the others to pick up on your fascination. 

You dig in at the emails bombarding you, lines of enquiry for cases you can’t even remember and finally you allow yourself another look, a treat for your hard work you tell yourself but when you look up, you’re startled to meet Joe’s eyes, staring back just as hard at you, an intensity you can’t break from until a throat is cleared from behind you, Miles standing there, pointedly looking at you, a knowing face on him.

You flush slightly and get up, mumbling something about the loo, just needing to get away, heading out and then into the bathroom, letting the tap water hit your wrists, cooling your pulse, cooling your head.

You hear the door go behind you eventually, unsure of how long you’ve been hiding away and you look in the mirror, meeting Joes’ eyes once again before glancing down, unsure of what’s going on until you feel Joe behind you and you turn, too close to Joe but unable to move, the sink digging in your back. You raise your face to his, uncertainty and hope warring inside, hope just about winning when Joe leans down, asks you quietly if this is ok and then kisses you, lips chastely on yours, a sweet touch but all the more powerful for it. Joe backs off slightly, his breath warming your already flushed face and you just smile at him, happy, more so when you receive an answering, relieved smile back.


End file.
